


Just A Dream

by tangofox



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Coma, Dreaming, F/M, Major Character Injury, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23415889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangofox/pseuds/tangofox
Summary: A fight with the Avengers leaves Captain America shot down in battle, his serum failing. In an effort to save his life, the medical team induce a coma, and Steve finds out that sometimes, things can be too good to be true.
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Kudos: 17





	Just A Dream

————————————

“What time is the sitter supposed to be here again?” 

The voice rang out from inside the bathroom, musical and slightly echoed, distracting Steve from the baby he held in his arms. Glancing up at the old clock on the wall he couldn’t help himself as he sighed with relief. There was far too much for him to get done before he was ready to leave the house. But then, there always was. A list of endless tasks in need of completion. He already knew he wouldn’t get all of them finished by the time the babysitter arrived. Going out to dinner meant that he would have twice as much to do come morning. But they had been talking about it for weeks now, trying to find the time to slot in something for themselves. 

“Anthony’s finished.”

Steve glances up in surprise at the sound of the voice so close to him, snapping out of his distant staring, meeting the eyes of Peggy Carter-Rogers, standing in the doorway to the room, fiddling with an earring as her gaze flickered between Steve, and the baby in his arms. Dressed in just a slip, with her hair pinned in tiny little curls with tiny little clips, Steve found himself awestruck by the sight of her, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a smile. Even half made up, Peg was still the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. From her warm eyes to her perfect figure, he loved her more every day of their lives that passed. 

“Anthony’s bottle is empty,” She repeats again with a look that manages to both be exasperated and fond, tilting her chin a little to draw Steve’s attention back to the child in his arms. 

Steve laughed at little as he set aside the empty bottle of formula, manoeuvring Tony to hold the boy against his chest, head over his shoulder, gently patting the boys back. Tony had a habit of drinking far too quickly, and Steve was used to having to rid him of any trapped air before setting him down. “You look absolutely breathtaking,” Steve murmurs, the baby reacting to his voice and following up with a babbling noise, causing Steve to chuckle quietly. “Tony agrees too apparently. Says Mom looks beautiful.”

Her laugh is warm and infectious, full of a fondness that makes Steve’s chest tighten, makes a faint blush flare upon his cheeks. Two children and five years married, Peggy still had the ability to turn Steve into the awkward young man he had been when they had first met. She was just as wonderful as she was back then, full of passion and strength, determination and drive. There was no world war for her to fight in anymore, but her work with SHIELD kept her busy, and had naturally been more important than Steve’s office job at the old gym in Brooklyn. Of course it wasn’t exactly conventional for Steve to be the one to stay home with the children, but it was the only thing that made sense for the both of them. Plus all the Mothers at school loved Steve, and he never felt out of place with them. He was proud of the work that Peggy did, he knew how important it was. After everything he had been through, everything he had lost, it was honestly a relief to have a life full of peace and quiet. Well...mostly peace and quiet. Two young children gave him plenty to keep him busy. But it was truly an honour to be a Father to them. 

As if on cue the sound of a young boy shouting “Daddy,” with a rush of footsteps announced the arrival of their firstborn, the young boy barreling in the room past his Mother, making a beeline for Steve, thrusting a piece of paper in his face. 

“I finished my drawing, see. You said you would put it up on the board if I finished it and I have. I even stayed all in the lines even though it was really hard.”

His hands full with Tony, Steve settles for leaning forwards to take a good look at the drawing; a child’s version of a sketch of the park Steve had made on their visit there last week. Drawing was something he had in common with his Father, and Steve was enthusiastic about nurturing that talent and instinct. 

“Can I see, Michael?” Peggy asks, her question immediately making the eldest boy go from excitable to nervous, fingers crumpling the corner of the paper with his grip. Steve knew that shyness well. Knew what it was like to worry that you would be shot down, despite all your hard work. Peggy might have been the stricter of the two of them when it came to parenting, but she was by no means cruel to the children. They just approached things differently. He thought she could be a little naggy. She thought he was a bit of a pushover. But they managed to balance each other out. 

“Go on, show your Mom,” Steve encourages, before turning his attention back to the baby in his arms, unable to keep the smile off of his face at the sight of the boy. 

He watches as little Michael hesitantly hands the drawing to Peggy, watching as her face turns serious and thoughtful, holding the picture carefully in her manicured hands. 

“Your Daddy’s drawing is very nice Michael, but where is yours?” Peggy asks him, met immediately with a confused expression from the young boy. “This is the drawing your Father did is it not? It looks exactly like the one I saw last week.”

“No it’s not! That’s the one I did! All by myself!”

“No!” Peggy exclaims with faux shock, her lips turning back up in a smile. “Come on then, let’s get this up on the kitchen board. You can come and help me stick it up there.”

Ruffling his hair and shooting Steve a wink, Peggy ushers the boy out of the sitting room, leaving Steve alone with their youngest, a warm feeling in his heart that he never wanted to leave. He felt happy, content in his life, proud of his achievements. He had fought in the war and survived. He had been involved in a program that had changed his life forever. He had met the love of his life, and had two beautiful children with her. Of course he had regrets and heartache. He regretted that Bucky wasn’t here to be godfather to their children. He felt saddened that the serum he had tested had eventually broken down, and that he had to contend with no longer being a super soldier capable of everything and anything. But everyone had regrets, had bad things happen in their life. It didn’t matter. He could see his life for the perfection that it was. Full of love and peace. Not a damn thing wrong with it. 

————

He hears the faint sound of knocking on the door just as he’s setting Anthony down in his crib, followed by the muffled sounds of two women speaking; thankful that Peggy had gotten the door and let the babysitter in. Putting the kids to bed had always been a task he enjoyed. Tonight for once, Tony wasn’t fussy, didn’t cry when set down, instead seemed like he might actually behave. Not even a year old and he was already the biggest attention seeker Steve knew, but he supposed that’s what they got for letting Howard Stark help with picking baby names. As soon as he had suggested Anthony, Peggy had fallen in love with it. It suited him, Steve had to admit. For all his trouble causing, Howard had been a good friend to them both, which was why he was the children’s Godfather. Not that either he nor Peggy considered the man a perfect parental figure if anything ever happened to them, but they knew at least the children would be taken care of. They wouldn’t need to worry about them. Peggy’s job was sometimes dangerous, and Steve’s health issues seemed to increase every passing year. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but still, they had to prepare. 

“Blood pressure levels are stable,” Peggy says from behind him, Steve turning round to look at her confused. 

“What did you just say?”

“I said are you ready to go? We have to leave in the next ten minutes if we want to make our reservation,” Peggy says with a sigh, turning around to walk back out of the room, leaving the door ajar. Steve simply stared after her, mouth agape in confusion. He was sure she had said something else. He really needed to get some rest. A good eight hours sleep some time. Especially if he was starting to hear things. Clearly he was losing it. 

Turning back to the crib, Steve pressed down the button on the little mobile, filling the crib area with twinkling lights and soft music, met with a sleepy gurgle from the baby occupying the crib. Leaning his arms on the side, despite knowing he needed to get a move on, Steve just had to take a moment to watch his boy fall asleep, to find joy in the peaceful moment. 

Stretching his fingers to and reaching to scratch at an itch in the crook of his elbow, Steve frowns when his fingers catch against something, looking down in horror to find a needle embedded into his arm, secured in place with tape, a fluid filled tube trailing down the side of his arm. In a shocked panic he tears at the thing with his fingers, yanking the needle free, glancing down at his hand to inspect the thing, only to find his palm empty. There was nothing there. In the dimly lit room he peers and pokes and prods at his skin, finding no evidence that anything had been there to begin with. He didn’t understand. He was tired, but normal tired, not the kind that caused him to hallucinate things like that. It didn’t make any sense. 

Steve backs out of the room with hurried steps, almost tripping over his own feet in the process, feeling stressed and confused over what he had seen, what he had heard. Only when he turns around he isn’t in his wallpapered hallway, there are no smiling photos from their wedding day on the wall, there isn’t soft cream carpeting beneath his feet. The white walls are bare and empty, and the tile floor feels frigid under his bare feet. 

“Peg?” He calls out, feeling too distressed to worry about waking up Anthony, too focused on the fact that something is clearly wrong with him. 

He stumbles, pressing a palm flat against the wall, turning to glance at the photo frame knocked off balance by his hand. A photo frame. A now-skewed photograph of Peggy in a beautiful cream dress, Steve in his uniform, looking at his new bride instead of at the camera like he was supposed to. Letting out a distressed whimper, he feels a gentle hand on his arm, turning to look at Peggy, all dressed up now, and looking as beautiful as she did the day they married one another. 

“I think somethings wrong with me,” he says hoarsely, his voice sounding as if he hadn’t used it in months. It hurt to speak, his mouth felt dry and his throat ached. It reminded him of his days in the hospital in his youth; tubes shoved down his throat to feed him when he was too sick to ingest anything normally. He hated that feeling then, and he hated it now. He only realises he’s half-clawing at his throat when Peggy grabs at his wrist, pulling his hand away from the reddened skin, eyeing the marks that his fingernails had left behind with a tight-lipped frown. He wasn’t sure what was worse, the expression, or the fact that she wasn’t saying anything to him. 

She says nothing. 

“Peg?”

His wife only stares at him, clutching his hand tightly, Steve glancing down at the simple gold band that adorned her finger. He wasn’t wearing his ring. He doesn’t know when he took it off, or where he put it. 

She’s gone when he looks up again, as are the photographs, the soft carpet, the floral wallpaper. He doesn’t recognise where he is. He doesn’t recognise the voices he can hear in the distance. No. He can recognise one. Nervous and rushed, but not one he can place. Red hair. It belonged to someone with red hair. Someone Anthony knew. But that was ridiculous. It wasn’t as if they had a nanny, and despite trying to wrack his brain, he was sure none of the nurses at the hospital had red hair. So what did this woman have to do with his infant son? 

“He’s waking up. We just have to wait now,” Peggy says from beside him in a voice that doesn’t belong to her. 

“I’ll go get him settled again. He probably just needs…”

But the door to the nursery isn’t there anymore. There’s no wooden letter A that Steve had carefully made himself, there was no muffled sound of a waking baby, or the soft music from the mobile. There was nothing. 

No. Not nothing. There was a consistent beeping, one that reminded him of hospitals and machines, loud enough to make him twitch, but Peggy didn’t seem to notice at all. She just kept running her hands up and down his arms, methodical and distracted, checking the needle in his arm again.

“I think I need to lie down,” Steve mumbles, unable to do anything about the panic rising inside of him, making his eyes sting with unshed tears, making his hands shake uncontrollably. This was too much, it was all too much. Peggy doesn’t protest, but says nothing, instead taking his hand and leading him to a bed that was not his own, pushing him gently to lay on the firm mattress. 

He doesn’t know where he is anymore. Doesn’t know what’s happening. It feels like he’s going mad. Like he’s suddenly in some terrible dream. Or nightmare. He can’t tell. 

“Where are the children? I want to see them. Where’s Michael?” Steve asks, the desperation evident in his tone, voice pleading and hoarse as his eyes dart around the room that seemed to be both his bedroom and a hospital room at the same time. But Peggy didn’t move to bring their children to him. Didn’t even acknowledge that he was speaking to her. She was too busy attaching a clear plastic bag to a stand, tapping at the liquid inside, checking the tube that trailed off down and away from it. Only she wasn’t Peggy. But she was. He didn’t understand. 

Closing his eyes tightly to block out his untrustworthy worthy vision, Steve only knew two things for sure. One, he was going to have to open his eyes again. Two, he really, really didn’t want to. 

  
  
  


—————————

[Epilogue]  
  


Waking up from his coma was a nightmare Steve Rogers was not prepared to face. Surrounded by private healthcare professionals hired by Pepper Potts, they had done their best to try and save him from the stress and damage his body had been through at the Avengers Facility. The decision to place him in a medically induced coma had been the safest option, giving his body long enough to recover from the trauma and injury. On top of all the injuries his body had sustained, whatever they had infected him with had wreaked havoc on his systems, creating a problem that nobody knew how to solve. They didn’t know how the super soldier serum even worked, nevermind how to deal with a virus that attacked and purged it from his system. Hours of surgery had followed hours more of a different procedure, and on and on. Pepper had hired the best doctors she had gotten a hold of, but they were working blindly, working against the odds. Getting Steve to the point where he was stable enough to be even placed in a coma was a near impossible task. 

Nothing was easier when he finally woke up. Recovery from his ordeal was slow and overwhelming. A process of learning how to do everything himself again, from breathing on his own, to learning how to walk after such massive muscle wastage. The steps were slow, infuriating and often rendered the man feeling defeated. A shell of his former self. Feeling barely human, never mind *super*. Therapists were sent in to assess him. He refused to speak to any of them. He wasn’t ready to talk to anyone about what he went through. About what he had to do. He wasn’t sure he would ever be ready. So instead he withdrew from everything. He let the doctors monitor him, he performed the physical therapy, he was cooperative in any tests they needed to do. But other than that, he was quieter than he had ever been in his life. Far removed from everyone. 

There was only one thing Steve found calm and interest in. Drawing. He could forget the mess that was his head if he had a pencil in his hand, a sketchbook in front of him. He filled dozens. Some architectural sketches, but mostly portraiture. Peggy Carter in a dress he never got to see her in. Children that he had never met. They filled one sketchbook alone, but Steve kept that under the bed he had in the lab, away from where Pepper might find it on one of her fretful visits. He drew her too. Happier times, Pepper and Tony as he remembered them from Clint’s birthday party, Tony looking at her as if she was the only woman in the world. He drew Tony in that silver suit. He drew Pepper in that silver suit. He drew Rocket wearing it. He drew the whole team, all lined up in their own versions of the silver armour. He drew them all in civilian clothes, sat on a steel beam like the famous Rockefeller photograph. He drew what he imagined his teammates looked like as children, and what they might look like as adults. Then there was Bucky. Always the easiest subject to sketch, especially from memory. He filled notebook upon notebook of detailed portraits of the man. All of them were from before the ice. The man he used to know. Short hair, a cocky smile, warm eyes. His best friend. The one he could always count on. He had died that day on the train, in a way. Just how Steve had died when he had plunged that plane into the frigid waters. The men they were now, they were nothing like who they used to be. 

He refuses meals until the nursing aide threatens to put him back on a drip. They force him to drink chalky protein shakes three times a day to help his nutrition along. The amount of medication he has to take in a day is staggering. He ignores Pepper when she comes to visit. If she brings him the paper he doesn’t read it. If she brings him files or information he ignores it. Just once, she brought a film and they sat and watched Breakfast at Tiffany’s in absolute silence. He can’t even remember what the film was about, even if he does find himself singing “Moon River” for days on end afterwards. 

Steve Rogers, frail and sickly, broken and lonely, was very much proof that Captain America was dead. He couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. 


End file.
